


6 and 4

by beepollenkick



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:41:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4808336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beepollenkick/pseuds/beepollenkick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's a good man, John Doggett; loyal to a fault and stable beyond measure. He'd be a good family man, she thinks. He was a good one. Is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	6 and 4

"I think I'm finally getting the hang of this job."

Reyes takes his hand in hers and grips it tight, and as he turns to meet her gaze he catches the reflection shining in her eyes. The colour rests carefully amidst wine and dark chocolate; an inviting warmth of summer dusk, astriferous and gleaming. He's lost in them so easily, counting constellations and mapping out her mind, as it comes so easily to him. And she lets him, as she's trusted in him for years, as he's the only person who knows to navigate her, and still gets lost willingly within.

John Doggett is irrevocable; stubborn and set in his ways, but a stubbornness she wouldn't dare shake, a stubbornness that's become irreplaceably comfortable. Like a favourite old sweater- worn and tattered round the edges, and she's known it longer than she can remember, and as people question her keeping it for so long or start to doubt its meaning, she only proceeds to keep it closer to her, for fear she's the only one who remembers it's true worth. She remembers John's true worth, through adversity and ghost-hunting and heartbreak, good lord, she remembers every ounce of worth vested deep in his bones.

He's a good man, John Doggett; loyal to a fault and stable beyond measure. He'd be a good family man, she thinks.

He was a good one.

Is.

She can sense emotion begin to well up in her eyes, so she grins harder as she squeezes his hand again and bites back against the surge.

 

They had come to the crime scene in separate cars, yet both end up at Doggett's house as the sun slowly dips behind the horizon, bathing the sky in crimson sorbet. His large, empty house invites the dusk inside, evening light coating everything in warm honey. As if she had stared directly into the sunlight, she can feel heated rays delving behind her eyelids, pressed tightly shut, as she gives into the sway of her hips and John's; rocking back and forth in tandem, an aching fire lit in the back of her skull and the swell of her sex.

She feels it all in her head; she always has. Her heartbeat echoes in her sinuses and every breath and gasp that is forced from her is pushed out her throat and clings to her sweat and hangs in the humidity. She digs her nails into his back in desperation, toes curling as she wraps her legs around him and holds her forehead to his, gritting her teeth as not to cry out blood-curdling mercy in complete pleasure.

John is rough, yet tender; he's strong and powerful and he presses himself into Monica as he fucks her, presses himself and her deeper and deeper into the mattress with every pulse, with every controlled movement, with every gravelly, animalistic groan that he drags along his throat and into the air. But he is meticulous, carefully so, as his movements are controlled, they are slow and steady, his hands grab at Monica's hips and keep her close to him, protective, guarded; a crude vigilance.

 

His hands had traveled her similarly before. He held her shoulders as he pulled her closer to him, the dimmed light in the living room casting unforgiving shadows across his face, but the icy blue of his eyes still rippled across the dark. A blue that anchored Monica, to her surroundings, to herself, an assuredness that settled in her feet as she stepped into him and succumbed to his shadows.

She brought her hands around the back of his neck and pulled her face to his, brushing her lips across his gently, carefully, as if handling delicate fruit. She began pressing against him slowly, first with her mouth and then her body, and eventually she had her arms wrapped tightly around him, with her kiss gasping for breath and his hands pressed into the small of her back, keeping her against him as to feel him, wholly, begging for her in entirety.

John tucked his hands under the hem of her shirt and stroked them along her bare back, running fingertips under edges of her shoulder blades and down her spine, a coursing energy that dug under her skin and made her powerful, made her hungry and feral, and as his hands traveled from her back to the sides of her ribs, gripping her and pulling her ever closer, she delved her tongue into his mouth, maddening and tempestuous. She groaned from deep within her chest, luscious vowels, and he complied with their beckoning of him, hauling Monica by her waist and all but throwing her over his shoulder as to carry her to bed.

 

Monica thinks while she fucks; her brainwaves omnipresent, as she counts the beads of sweat that form on John's forehead, times her pulses and quakes, curls her lip round her teeth as she hisses forceful "yes"ses and expletives from behind gritted molars. She begins to feel an efflux at her core, and she writhes and arches her back and plants one hand to John's shoulder blade as the other savagely grips at the sheet, and as the mattress is shed of the fitted and the relief of pressure from within, she bellows a cry of release; untamed, ravenous artistry.

 

He is careful with her as he reaches across to turn out the light. As the room is cast in shadows, her bare back glows against the moonlight that sneaks between the curtains, illuminated stripes across limpid porcelain. It's not the first time she's stayed in his bed, under such circumstances, yet he is ever delicate around her; an immovable force of habit he's forgotten to hide.

He is careful with valuables.

**Author's Note:**

> when i took on the self-imposed challenge to write my notp, i did not think it would be this challenging. not in the slightest. i started this over a week ago and this is what i managed to shit out.  
> honestly though, i do think it was a good challenge to take on, and an excellent writing exercise. try it yall! if you can bear making your head-canonically wonderful fbi lesbian get it on with her head-canonically best and totally-not-romantic-not-even-in-the-slightest friend. :^)  
> also for those wondering, the title, "6 and 4" refers to doggett and reyes's life path numbers- referencing the s9 episode "improbable". doggett is a 6 and reyes, a 4.


End file.
